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11

Dec

To every instant there is a correspondence in something outside time. This world here and now cannot be followed by a Beyond, for the Beyond is eternal, hence it cannot be in temporal contact with this world here and now.
Franz Kafka (1883-1924), Prague German Jewish author, novelist. The Third Notebook, December 11, 1917. The Blue Octavo Notebooks, ed. Max Brod, trans. by Ernst Kaiser and Eithne Wilkins. Exact Change, Cambridge, MA (1991). Dearest Father: Stories and Other Writings, trans. by Ernst Kaiser and Eithne Wilkins, New York, Schocken Books (1954).

21

Oct

Watch Vanishing of Bees on Netflix.. You have nooooo idea what these matriarchies do for us and how they are collapsing. 


http://www.vanishingbees.com/

Watch Vanishing of Bees on Netflix.. You have nooooo idea what these matriarchies do for us and how they are collapsing.


http://www.vanishingbees.com/

04

Oct

Have you ever thrown a fistful of glitter in the air? Have you ever looked fear in the face and said “i just dont care” -pink

Have you ever thrown a fistful of glitter in the air? Have you ever looked fear in the face and said “i just dont care” -pink

13

Apr

creationnn? .. evolution?

creationnn? .. evolution?

real life mario kart

real life mario kart

07

Apr

I want to roll around in these flowers

I want to roll around in these flowers

02

Apr

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art -
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors -
No - yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever - or else swoon to death.
John Keats
With stammering lips and insufficient sound
I strive and struggle to deliver right
That music of my nature, day and night
With dream and thought and feeling interwound
And only answering all the senses round
With octaves of a mystic depth and height
Which step out grandly to the infinite
From the dark edges of the sensual ground.
This song of soul I struggle to outbear
Through portals of the sense, sublime and whole,
And utter all myself into the air:
But if I did it,—as the thunder-roll
Breaks its own cloud, my flesh would perish there,
Before that dread apocalypse of soul.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning

25

Mar

let’s goooo

let’s goooo

08

Mar

I must become a monk, for I need this to happen. NEED this to happen, I wuvs tigews.

I must become a monk, for I need this to happen. NEED this to happen, I wuvs tigews.

If this does not strike you as adorable, you are an idiot. Him’s tute

If this does not strike you as adorable, you are an idiot. Him’s tute

I want to live here and feed my senses with creativity.

I want to live here and feed my senses with creativity.

Hitting the ground runnniinnngggg. No looking back.

Hitting the ground runnniinnngggg. No looking back.

04

Feb

my fantasy chambers

my fantasy chambers